


Setting a New Anchor

by LetsRandom



Series: Discovering Faith Once More [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Smallville, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:39:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7234114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetsRandom/pseuds/LetsRandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having recently lost his Pa, Clark Kent makes the move to Sunnydale. Prequel to Discovering Faith Once More.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hearing Everything

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-post from my TTH account. The story serves as an optional prequel to Discovering Faith Once More. Inspired by the Man of Steel Trailer.

* * *

_“The world’s too big mom.”_  
  
“Then make it small. Focus on my voice,” she held him closer, “Pretend it’s an island, out on the ocean. Can you see it?”  
  
“I see it.”  
  
“The world’s too big mom.”  
  
“Then make it small. Focus on my voice,” she held him closer, “Pretend it’s an island, out on the ocean. Can you see it?”  
  
“I see it.”  
  
  
It helped during the day, to focus on the sound of his mother. On the sounds of home. In a bright and loud world, the warm voice of his mother acted as a shelter and calmed him. When overwhelmed by all the noises, sights, and sensations it helped to close his eyes and focus on just the one sound. It was calming just listening to Ma breathe. Until Pa passed.  
  
She tried to hide it, but Clark could sense it. He could hear the occasional hitch in her breath, see the occasional glance around the room, and often he could feel his mother’s pain as it added to his own. He was glad his mother’s voice still calmed him, but her silences pained him. The pain was so tangible in the air, he felt a physical ache from her proximity. It was easier to extend his hearing to other sounds, brighter sounds around him. Anything would do really: listening to the hustle and bustle of nature and the joyful laughter of others were some of his favourite distractions from the silence. Clark finally made a bearable peace with the warmth of day months after Pa's passing.  
  
But the silence of nighttime still tormented Clark. Leaving Smallville behind had been quite easy. Without Pa, it was no longer the Kent farm. Once a source of comfort and joy, it simply left Clark feeling nothing but emptiness. Only Ma made him feel anything at all; so it was only natural for him to agree to the move closer to Ma’s remaining family. He was hoping to replace the unnerving quiet of Smallville could with new and more colourful sounds.  
  
Clark had been preparing for the increased noise as he travelled across the country. Despite this, LA had been overwhelming. The diverse barrage of sound during the day was expected, but the setting of the sun was when he found himself wishing once again to be normal. The sounds of its nightlife were filled by the screams of pain, violence, and suffering. It took Clark all of his focus not to flinch at each sound; Ma had enough to worry about with Pa gone. He hoped when he got to Sunnydale that the quiet of a small town would welcome him to his new home.  
  
But the screams of the nighttime followed: only made worse by the contrasting silence. At least, in Los Angeles the hum and thrum of the city’s night life could distract him from every despairing sob or hysteric scream. But in Sunnydale, the screams of pain were crystal clear. Every struggle in an alley, every cry of pain, and every gasping breath sounded clearly in Clark’s ears as though it were happening right in front of him.  
  
But then one night something changed, something interrupted the never ending cycle. The scream of fear was tragically cut short just like every time before it. Clark closed his eyes, trying desperately to block out each strained gurgle as life left the victim’s body. But this time was different.  
  
At the sound of flesh striking flesh, Clark gasped, surprised. When a body struck a nearby wall, Clark opened his eyes. And when a desperate gasp for life sounded, Clark dared to hope. Something was happening, something different, maybe something good.  
  
He closed his eyes in concentration, hoping to get a better idea of what was happening. The victim was likely alive, but her breathing was laboured and weak. If she didn’t get medical attention soon things likely wouldn’t end well. Clark felt the same old conflict rise within him, but fell back on routine; it was safer for him and his mother if he kept himself a secret. Revealing himself to others was something he could never take back.  
  
As he listened, he heard two people fighting, one much heavier set than the other, but to Clark it sounded as though they were evenly matched. A few blows were traded with not much quarter given by either combatant, when suddenly the smaller one dealt a heavy blow.  
  
The larger fighter, a man, growled in response, “You’re going to regret that girley.”  
  
Clark opened his eyes in surprise. It took him a moment to refocus his attention to catch the tail end of her reply, “—and you’re still ugly.”  
  
Clark couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow. He wasn’t that familiar with physical confrontations, but it seemed like the female involved had a unique sense of witty banter. With a snarl the man resumed their fight.  
  
The two continued to trade heavy blows, with Clark wincing at the occasional crash into nearby obstacles. Their fight came to a sudden stop when the previously ignored woman let out a small moan. Clark assumed the two paused to take stock of her condition  
  
“Looks like my snack wants me to finish,” the man sneered before slowly scraping his foot along the ground, “It’d only take a moment—“  
  
The cartilage of his nose breaking resonated in Clark’s ears, “Don’t you dare touch her!”  
  
“You Bitch!” the man screamed. His voice was slightly muffled; he was obviously grabbing at his face.  
  
“You know, normally I’d have loved to keep dancing with you,” the female commented nonchalantly as she began a more brutal assault, “But, this lady needs help and you’re getting in the way.”  
  
As suddenly as it began, the fight stopped. Clark strained his ears, hoping to hear the result. But for all intents and purposes, the man had seemingly disappeared. Frowning in concentration, he heard the female bend over the victim before gently picking her up.  
  
“Ok, let’s get you to the hospital, pronto,” with that, the victim’s female savior took off at a quick pace, her heels clacking loudly against the pavement. Clark was impressed by both her actions and her ability to fight considering her footwear. The only worrisome part of this turn of events was the fate of the attacker. While Clark obviously didn’t condone the man’s violent attack of the woman, he couldn’t help but wonder at the man’s fate.  
  
A few seconds later, Clark heard the recognizable sounds of an emergency room. He listened to the brief conversation taking place as the hospital staff quickly responded to the situation. His ears strained until he heard what he needed.  
  
“She’s going to be ok.”  
  
And with that, Clark refocused his hearing on his mother’s breathing in the next room. He wasn’t sure why, but suddenly he was finding peace in her sounds like he did when he was younger. Maybe because the victim was going to recover. Maybe because something had broken his vicious nighttime cycle. Or maybe because someone had finally stood up to do what’s right. Whatever the reason, Clark felt an emotion he hadn’t in months.  
  
He felt hope for the first time since moving Sunnydale.


	2. Fighting Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark learns more about his new home and possibly himself.

* * *

_My son was in the bus. He saw what Clark did!”  
  
…  
  
“You have to keep this side of you a secret.”  
  
“What was I supposed to do?” Clark demanded, “Just let him die?”  
  
Jonathan turned away and after a brief pause replied, “… maybe.”   
_  
  
Things were often beyond anyone’s control. Clark knew that, but sensibility and practicality constantly warred with his desire to help. He never felt more different, alien, freakish, until the day of the bus accident. Regular people could and would have helped others to the best of their abilities, but he couldn’t. He was different; he had to hide and pretend to be something else. Despite all the strength Clark possessed, there was nothing he could ever do. The risks of exposure and the safety of his family prevented him from fully utilizing his abilities. Even if he could, what then? He couldn’t restart a heart, he couldn’t bring the dead back to life, and he couldn’t have saved Pa. Despite all his abilities, he was in practice, powerless.  
  
Still, Clark struggled internally with every cry of help he heard. And in the small town of Sunnydale, there were far too many at night. Thankfully someone had been answering those cries recently. More often than not, Clark would hear a fight break out with the same female every time. He could now recognize her voice as it was distinctly pitched, despite his practice at limiting his hearing range. Sometimes he managed to ignore the sounds of Sunnydale’s night life, but more often than not he still heard enough to understand the gist of what was happening.  
  
It was quite likely that once he registered with the local high school, Clark would end up meeting Sunnydale’s mysterious savior face-to-face. Still, despite her best efforts to limit the local PCP-related violence, many cries at night still went unanswered. Those cries were driving Clark’s patience to his upper limits. Maybe it was why, despite Pa’s wisdom Clark found himself walking the streets of Sunnydale one night. If he limited his hearing range to just one block in all directions, he wasn’t actively looking for trouble he justified. It was just a late evening stroll.  
  
Of course he heard when a pair of bodies slammed into a nearby wall. With a quick burst of speed, Clark rounded the corner to see two individuals wrestling each other for control. His first instinct was to rush and help the woman, but in less than a second it was apparent she wasn’t the victim.  
  
Picking the man up as though he weighed nothing, the woman viciously hurled him into the alleyway wall, knocking him unconscious. As she approached the fallen man, Clark couldn’t help but call out.  
  
“Stop!”  
  
At his shout the woman turned and Clark’s mind froze, trying to register what he was seeing. Her eyes glowed yellow and her forehead was distorted by weird bone formations, ruining what otherwise may have been an attractive visage.  
  
She growled before breaking out into a predatory smirk. Her voice was feral and throaty, “I’d be happy to share the fun.”  
  
Next thing Clark knew, he was being thrown from one end of the alley to the other. _She was strong._  
  
In his excitement, Clark forgot why they were fighting in the first place, “You’re like me!” he exclaimed, climbing to his feet. The prospect of someone else sharing his experiences overtook his mind. His spry recovery seemed to impress his attacker.  
  
“So it would seem,” the woman’s attitude did a complete 180. Gone was the wild predator, in its place the sultry seductress, “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to enjoy myself.” She took slow deliberate steps toward him, emphasizing the sway of her hips.  
  
Clark gulped when she stopped in front of him. As she drew her finger across his face, he shuddered; he felt an unfamiliar warmth spread throughout his body.   
  
A firm hand gripped the back of his neck as she pulled him close, inhaling his scent. Then there was a pause, “You’re warm.”  
  
“You’re cool,” Clark dully replied, still completely overwhelmed by the recent turn of events.  
  
Pulling back slightly, the woman frowned, the boney ridges on her face having disappeared. She repeated again as though he were slow, “You’re warm.”  
  
“What does that even matter?” Clark asked, obviously confused.  
  
“Nothing, hun, just relax,” she cooed, pulling him into a passionate kiss. Within the first second, she forced her tongue into his mouth, savouring his taste, “Mmmm, you taste good.”  
  
Completely, thunderstruck Clark managed a, “You too,” before she began trailing kisses down his neck. With each kiss, Clark groaned, feeling her trail lead down his neck. He’d never felt anything so—Ouch!  
  
She bit him!   
  
“Fucking oww!” the woman screamed, backing off. Her facial ridges were back and she was gripping her mouth in pain, “What the fuck are you?”  
  
Falling on old habits, Clark politely asked, “Sorry, what?”  
  
“Great, a freak and stupid,” the woman let out a string off curses. She suddenly appeared far less attractive to Clark. The word freak cut much deeper than the shot at his intelligence.  
  
The teen wasn’t even sure what he’d been thinking. A moan brought his attention back to the injured man. He’d been so caught up in the moment that he’d completely forgotten why he’d been in the alleyway to begin with. His common companion guilt returned once more at a great moment of opportunity: right before a fist collided with his face.  
  
Reeling in a daze, Clark registered that his face actually stung. _Something had managed to hurt him._  
  
“Fucking Hell!” the woman was shaking out her fist, “What the fuck are you?” she demanded, glaring at him in fury.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clark stammered, his father’s obsession with secrecy clear in his mind. He could only hope to desperately salvage the situation, “Besides what were you doing to him?” Clark demanded, attempting to redirect the focus of the conversation.  
  
“What do you think?” the woman asked incredulously, “You must be really new to the Hellmouth. Fucking demon,” She spat on the ground to emphasize her point. “Your kind ruins everything.”  
  
“What did you call me?” Clark asked, the insult was new to him.  
  
“You heard me,” she walked forward as he stood their paralyzed. Intruding into his personal space, she spat on his face, “Demon.” The word was said with a passionate vehemence.   
  
“I’m not,” Clark stuttered, trying to defend himself, “I’m not a demon!”  
  
“Whatever floats your boat. My snack isn’t worth dealing with your kind,” and with that she simply turned and left the alley, leaving Clark and the unconscious man behind.  
  
For several minutes, Clark stood there, trying to process the last few minutes, trying to make sense of everything. And then he sat down, curling his knees into his chest. So maybe that’s what he was. A demon. Something similar would explain the woman from earlier and her appearance. Everything in his life would make more sense. Maybe that’s why Pa had wanted him to hide? Was that—  
  
The man moaned again, possibly fluttering in and out of consciousness.   
  
A reminder of his plight was enough to galvanize Clark back into action. _Demon, freak, whatever I am. I can still get this man to a hospital without being seen by anyone else. I can still help._  
  
And so he did.


End file.
